


On the Wings of Angels

by smileinthedark



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Religion Kink, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileinthedark/pseuds/smileinthedark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Human AU. - "F-filthy fucking liar," he sputtered, writhing under Antonio's steady gaze. "The hell do you know about angels?" - Warnings for PWP, blasphemy, and Romano's filthy mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Wings of Angels

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Semi-cross-posted from my FF.net account. 'Semi' being because FF.net took it down because of some minor violations, and I won't be able to reupload it for a few days.  
> Warnings: Sex with a minor, religious imagery/religion kink, I bare no resposibility for the fate of your immortal soul as influenced by this work.  
> Disclaimer: Characters not mine.

**On the Wings of Angels**

The simple black wooden cross stood out starkly against the white chest of the boy underneath him, and the way he quivered fearfully under Antonio’s rough fingertips gave him away as an amateur. He must have been no older than fifteen, and Antonio couldn’t help but feel a little dirty as he watched the lithe adolescent wriggle out of his far-too-nice-for-a-prostitute dress shirt and then let it lie there under him on the bed like a pair of warped, broken angel’s wings.

Antonio had found the boy loitering in front of a seedy-looking bar tucked away in a dark Neapolitan alley, one he wouldn’t have even bothered venturing down if he didn’t know exactly what he was looking for.

 _‘The gay scene in Napoli is a covert one,’_ Francis had told him.‘There are only a few clubs, but you’ll find them if you know where to look. And,’ the Frenchman added with a leer and a wink, _‘their whores are some of the best.’_

So, following Francis’s advice, Antonio had spent the night wandering the city’s backstreets with more than a little alcohol rushing through his system, dodging in and out of bars until he found the one he was looking for.

It wasn’t the bar that had finally caught his attention, though; Antonio had instead been drawn in by the boy leaning against the window, his fiercely flashing hazel eyes darting about under furrowed brows as he glanced up and down the street, looking for something. It didn’t take more than a few seconds to figure out what he was looking for, dressed as he was in a fitted white dress shirt and tight black shorts that looked like they could have once belonged to a boy much younger than he was.

Not entirely drunk, but not entirely sober, Antonio ambled over to where the boy stood, his frame half-illuminated by the sparse streetlights scattered up and down the block. As he drew closer, Antonio realized he had no idea what to say to the tawny-haired beauty; he’d never tried to pick up a whore before and all he could think of were Francis’s sleazy and overused pick-up lines.

“You look lonely,” Antonio said when he finally came to stand in front of the boy. (Francis’s sleazy pick-up lines it would be, apparently.) The only response he got was a slow blink and what he assumed was a practiced, inquisitive tilt of the head.

“Keep me company, then,” the boy finally answered smoothly, not even looking at Antonio as he pushed himself off the building, glancing instead over his shoulder and into the bar’s window. Antonio followed his gaze, squinting into the dimly lit establishment to find another boy – they must have been brothers, for they were almost identical– smiling cheerfully and happily clinging to the broad back of a blond man with slicked back hair and an out-of-place blush dusting his cheeks. The younger boy waved to them with a smile, and his brother nodded in acknowledgement before turning to walk past Antonio and into the street.

“Hotel’s this way,” he muttered, without looking back to check whether or not Antonio was following. He was, of course; Antonio trailed after the boy as he strode easily through winding streets and into a cheap hotel. Several prolonged moments of being glowered at prompted Antonio to fish his wallet out of his pocket – fingers fumbling with its contents and apologies in two different languages spilling from his lips – to pay the receptionist at the front desk eyeing him warily from behind pointed glasses.

Even when they got up to the room and the boy shrugged off his shirt and tugged Antonio over to the bed by his belt loops, he didn’t talk; he simply pulled Antonio down on top of him and wrapped his legs around Antonio’s hips with a breathy sigh that turned into a sloppy open-mouthed kiss.

He still felt dirty, but Antonio couldn’t help but want as he watched the boy lie there underneath him – still trembling slightly despite his forwardness – with his shirt off and the rosary that was underneath shining against his creamy skin.

“What’s your name?” The boy hesitated even as Antonio gripped his waist firmly and leant down to press lips to the base his throat, caressing the soft skin underneath with his tongue.

“R-Romano,” the boy answered between surprised gasps, and Antonio laughed.

“Romano? No, lindo,” he answered, his lips curving into a smile against the boy’s skin, “your real name.” The boy scowled through fluttering lashes at Antonio’s question.

“None of your fucking business, you bastard.”

Antonio frowned a little, inexplicably hurt by the boy’s words, and pulled away to look down at him properly, slightly flushed and breathing heavily as he squirmed underneath the weight of Antonio’s body.

“Why not?” The boy’s lips curled into the beginnings of a sneer as he turned his eyes on Antonio but, as if suddenly realizing what he was about to do, he bit back the retort evident on the tip of his tongue and instead simply wrapped his arms around Antonio’s shoulders and rolled his hips up against the painful, growing bulge in his pants.

“Hurry,” the boy breathed against the shell of Antonio’s ear as he pulled him closer. A strangled groan was wrested from Antonio’s lips at the subtle, seductive tone that rolled off that pink, adolescent tongue, and he pressed his hips down against the boy’s inner thigh, hands fumbling clumsily over the boy’s smooth skin as he tried to reconcile his conflicting desires.

“Pants,” Antonio managed to gasp as he detached the boy’s arms from around his neck, using all of his willpower to roll off of the boy so he could scramble with the buttons of his slacks. The boy did the same, sliding out of his sinfully tight shorts much more smoothly than Antonio had even thought possible, to reveal absolutely nothing underneath. Antonio felt himself harden at the sight, that supple body lying bare against the dirty should-be-white sheets, with his shirt wrinkled underneath him like broken wings and his shorts thrown off to the side somewhere, forgotten and unimportant in light of the perfect being in front of him, coyly drawing his knees together in the middle of the bed.

“Eres un ángel.” Antonio murmured, turning to pin the boy to the bed by his thin wrists, unbuttoned shirt hanging off Antonio’s shoulders a mark of his lust-driven impatience. The boy knit his brows in confusion.

“Un angelo, Romano,” he repeated in Italian, “sei un angelo.” Antonio looked down to find the boy’s face flushed a bright, angry red.

“F-filthy fucking liar,” he sputtered, writhing under Antonio’s steady gaze. “The hell do you know about angels?” Antonio smiled and traced the boy’s lips with his thumb.

“They’re beautiful,” he whispered, the corners of this mouth twitching upward for a brief moment. “They’re beautiful servants of God,” Antonio continued, fingers wandering to map the rest of the contours of boy’s face, from the delicate bridge of his nose to the shallow dips of his cute, twitching eyelids.

“Stupido,” the boy hissed quietly, motionless and with his eyes still closed as Antonio’s fingers roamed his face. “Angels are good. They smile and don’t fucking cur-“ His eyes snapped open and his words were cut off with a gasp as Antonio palmed his bare erection with an impatient, straying hand. When Antonio did nothing but hum quietly at the boy’s reaction, he continued.

“Angles don’t fucking curse. Or sell themselves.” His voice was raspy as he squared his eyes with Antonio’s own. “Come mio fratello.” He said, voice dropping to a whisper. “Mio fratello è un angelo.”

“The boy in the bar?” Antonio asked.

“Yes,” came the terse reply. Antonio simply smiled.

“I like my angel better,” he said, bending forward to fervently press his lips to the cross that lay flat beneath the boy’s collarbones, taking it between his teeth gently as his eyes fixed themselves on the dip of the boy’s neck, right above his sternum, smooth and white and perfect. He wanted to mark it, to mark _him_. Antonio wanted to cover him in bruising red-violet kisses and watch him tremble and sob with every thrust into his tight, angelic form. He wanted the boy to cry his name over and over and over, holy exaltations amidst gasps and heady, erotic moans. God was meant to be worshipped, angels to be loved. Perhaps Antonio wasn’t always the best Catholic, but he’d always been a good lover.

“My beautiful, desecrated angel.” The words left his lips before he could stop them, thrumming through the wood of the cross between his teeth almost imperceptibly, and the boy’s breathing hitched.

“Sick bastard,” he snarled angrily, fisting a hand in Antonio’s hair and pulling his head back harshly, freeing the rosary from Antonio’s disobedient, blasphemous lips. The boy’s other hand reached for the cross – quickly and clumsily, his hands shaking with some emotion Antonio did not know – to pull it off his neck. Antonio snapped to attention, though – grabbing the boy’s wrist with surprising desperation.

“Leave it on,” Antonio whispered, voice harsher then he expected. The grip he had on the boy’s wrist – too firm, he realized, loosening it guiltily – made him squirm and look up at Antonio with practiced wide, scared eyes as he tugged nervously on the cheap hotel’s sheets. Their eyes locked in the silence and Antonio swallowed.

“Leave it on. Please.” The boy’s hand reached up to grasp at the rosary, clutching it tightly against his chest as his eyes narrowed and the corners of his lips twitched into a scowl.

“Don’t touch it.” Though Antonio assumed it was meant to be a demand, it sounded more like a plea: shaky, desperate and frightened. He could feel himself harden at the sound of the boy’s voice, and his blood heated up as it eagerly rushed southward through his veins. All Antonio could comprehend as his hands firmly gripped that slim waist and his lips found that heartbeat strumming steadily beneath a bare chest was how much he _needed_ the boy underneath him, how much he needed and wanted and craved for him.

Antonio caved to that desire, pressing his lips to the boy’s neck in silent reverence. His tongue found the boy’s pulse and latched onto it mercilessly as a wandering hand brushed experimentally over a pink, pointed nipple. The sharp gasp Antonio was rewarded with shot straight to his dick, and he groaned in response, gripping both their erections firmly in his free hand as he regrettably tore his mouth away from the bright red mark already blossoming on the boy’s neck to press his lips to the boy’s chest and flick his tongue over a sensitive nub. The boy moaned, then, low and needy, arching into Antonio’s hands as they gripped his erection and wandered down to finger the cleft of his ass. The feel of the boy’s hot skin against his made Antonio’s cock twitch, aching.

“Lube?” Antonio inquired into the boy’s skin as he nipped and sucked his way down his torso, leaving faint marks in his wake. The boy twisted over, fumbling with the pockets of the dress shirt behind him as Antonio ran his tongue along a defined, jutting hipbone. He turned back over in silence, handing Antonio an unmarked vial and then spreading his legs, lusty gaze fixed somewhere out the hotel room’s darkened window. Annoyed, Antonio tilted the boy’s face toward him.

“Look this way,” he whispered, popping open the vial in his hand. “Don’t turn away from me.” The boy didn’t even nod, just kept his face where Antonio had guided it, and looked right through him, quivering and suddenly and surprisingly docile. It made an uneasy chill go up Antonio’s spine as he poured the lube over his fingers and lay a hand on the boy’s tender inner thigh.

Hesitantly, Antonio pressed his slicked fingers to the boy’s entrance, anxious for a reaction. The boy simply bit back a sigh and sunk, shuddering, into the pillows. Antonio tried again, encircling the boy’s puckered entrance with a single, slippery finger, and watched as he swallowed and shut his eyes.

“Are you nervous?” The boy’s eyes snapped up and he propped himself up on his elbows to glare at Antonio.

“Who’s nervous, bastard? You’re just taking too fucking long.” Antonio smiled blithely, happy to have the boy’s attention back and ready to ease his nerves even as his better judgment whispered cruel truths into his ear, that no one who’d had that many men in him would ever be nervous.

No, he shushed that unpleasant voice and moved his hand away from the boy’s hole, splaying his fingers instead across the soft skin of the boy’s inner thighs. It struck him then, as he bent over to lay his lips on those legs, just how flawless and unblemished they were. For a delusional second, Antonio was convinced that he really had found an angel, one that had wandered too far off the heavenly path and had instead stumbled into this Neapolitan hotel and got caught up in another kind of heavenly whirlwind of sexual gratification.

Antonio banished the thought; he was already painfully hard and his fantasies only made him more impatient. He settled instead for leaving deep red marks all over the boy’s inner thighs until his breathless whimpers and choked moans were too much to take.

“W-what…what are you d-doing?” the boy asked through surprised gasps, trying to peer at Antonio even as his hips bucked forward wantonly against Antonio’s tongue and his shoulders shuddered with rolling waves of pleasure. His head fell back against the pillow and his hands grappled with the sheets, fisting the worn material in his hands as he moaned loud and long, voice penetrating Antonio’s skin and bones right to the marrow, making him shiver and ache.

Antonio’s hands slipped and slid against the boy’s thighs as he pushed them further apart, running his tongue along the boy’s length before once again pressing it to his entrance, caressing the pink skin there and enjoying the way the muscles in the boy’s legs clenched and spasmed beneath his fingertips.

“‘T’s s-such a waste of lube,” the boy groaned, surrendering in his war with the sheets to fist a hand in Antonio’ hair and pull him in closer, legs straining against his hold. Unable to respond with his mouth pressed against the boy’s skin, Antonio continued to tease the entrance with his tongue, probing and thrusting shallowly as the boy above him writhed, curses spilling from his lips in an unintelligible jumble.

Antonio’s hard-on rubbed against the sheets as he teased the boy in front of him, and he tried to stifle his own groans of pleasure at the sweet friction until it was too much to take and he reached down to stroke himself with one slippery hand, letting the boy’s thigh settle on his shoulder and his heel dig into his back as he hissed, his hand pulling hard on Antonio’s hair.

“Stupid bastard,” the boy hissed, voice ragged, “fucking hurry up already.”

Antonio obliged, pausing in his ministrations to take the boy’s thigh from his shoulder and spread him wide, exposing every inch of his body. Antonio got to his knees and slunk up the bed so he could see the boy properly, the way his limber body was flushed with desire and tears of pleasure clinging to his long, dark eyelashes.

“Il mio angelo,” Antonio murmured, falling on top of the boy.

“You’re sick,” the boy said again, reaching up to place his hands on Antonio’s shoulders with a shudder and a moan. “You are so fucking _sick_.”

“You wound me,” Antonio said with a small smile, reaching up to brush a stray curl away from the boy’s face and tuck it behind his ear. The boy’s eyes shot open and he gasped, fingers digging hard into Antonio’s shoulders as he wrapped his legs tightly around his hips.

“Hurry,” the boy whimpered, teary eyes meeting Antonio’s. “Hurry…please, please…I-I want…”

Whatever composure Antonio had left snapped at the sight of the boy underneath him, begging and crying with need, and he pushed him down firmly into the bed, pushing apart his legs and easing himself in.

The boy gasped and screwed his eyes shut as Antonio entered him slowly, and when he was in fully, he slowly opened his eyes, meeting Antonio’s gaze.

“ _Please…_ ” Grabbing the boy’s hips, Antonio pulled out, and then back in, slowly building up a rhythm.

“S-so good,” the boy moaned into Antonio’s ear as he wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling him closer, breath hot and voice quavering with pleasure. “Harder, faster…more…more…” His voice dissolved into a breathless mantra as he rolled his hips to match Antonio’s thrusts.

“I bet you say that to everyone who buys you,” Antonio answered against his better judgment, even as he gripped the boy’s waist tighter and bent to his will, angling himself to hit the boy’s prostate more directly, eliciting more and more of those erotic gasps and moans. He just needed to hear it, to hear ‘no, you’re the only one,’ from those angelic lips, those perfect pink lips, and as he thought about it, suddenly Antonio regretted not asking the boy to blow him. What he wouldn’t have given to see that boy on his knees as if he were praying, with his mouth wrapped around Antonio’s cock in complete worship and his rosary dangling dark against his flawless light skin.

The boy laughed, then, a short, breathy laugh, and unclasped his arms from around Antonio’s neck, falling back against the white of the pillow to look at him properly, eyes glistening. Antonio could feel his heart leap to his throat and his cock twitch inside the boy with painful, sweet longing.

“Say it to everyone? Of course I do,” he said, still laughing, lips quirked into a smile. “I’m a whore, that’s my job.”

Possessiveness flooded Antonio’s veins at that simple statement. The intense swooping desire to _own_ that charming little grin and that bell-like laughter thrummed loudly in his ears and in his chest and suddenly all he saw was red and haze and dirty, tainted angel’s wings exploding out of the boy’s shoulder blades.

With a growl that sounded foreign even to him, Antonio pulled out of the boy and grabbed his wrist, twisting him over so he lay on this stomach, with Antonio hunched over him. The boy fell on his front, startled, and looked at Antonio over his shoulder. Then, one corner of his lips quirked up and he got to his knees, raising his ass to brush against Antonio’s throbbing dick even as his face remained pressed into the pillow below.

“C’mon,” he coaxed, fingers finding Antonio’s erection and pressing it hard against his hole. “Give it to me, you bastard. You know you want to.”

Liquid fire pooled in Antonio’s gut, a convoluted blend of anger and desire churning together inside of him as the boy’s words echoed in his ears and his touch sparked and sizzled like electricity over his skin. Looking at the boy laying prone underneath him, offering up his ass with a sly half-smile, Antonio couldn’t help the images that inundated his mind, images of the boy lying beneath dozens of other faceless men with his legs spread and his body flushed, grinning and coaxing and moaning as wings unfurled behind him like he was some sort of bastard incubus half-breed knocked hard from heaven’s door.

The images disgusted Antonio almost as much as they aroused him, and jealousy governed him wholly as he slapped the boy’s hand away from where it still burned electric against his near-painful arousal, taking him up on his shameless offer and sliding back in with a grunt. When the boy sighed with satisfaction, Antonio’s blood boiled and he gripped the slender hips harshly, thrusting into him hard and fast and selfish.

“H-hurts…” came the boy’s voice as he tried to raise himself up onto his elbows, gripping the sheets as he shuddered. Antonio let the protests go unanswered as he dug his fingertips into the boy’s tender skin and continued, drinking in the gasps of pain that sounded so similar to the gasps of pleasure.

“Bare it,” Antonio growled, “you’ve done this before.” Had he been in his right mind, Antonio would have choked himself, he would have happily swallowed down his harsh words and taken that rosary from around the boy’s neck and hung himself by its black cross. He’d never before loved anyone so roughly, and shame coursed through his veins alongside rage and possessiveness, an undercurrent racing through his blood even as one hand reached down to press the boy’s chest into the bed despite his pained cries.

Antonio bent over the boy and bit into his shoulder, reveling in the sharp cry it let loose from his full lips as he ran his tongue over it in a manner that was meant to be teasing, but became soothing instead.

“Antonio,” he whispered into the boy’s ear as one hand wrapped around his waist and the other snaked downward to stroke his weeping erection. “That’s my name. I want to hear it when you cum, okay?”

The boy’s loud, indistinct moans garbled together in what could have been the words ‘sick bastard’, but Antonio was too far gone to care, preoccupied as he was with getting the both of them off. He worked the boy’s arousal with a skilled hand and felt him tense and shiver underneath him as all his sighs and moans dissolved down to a single holy exaltation of ‘…god, oh god, oh…’

Antonio could feel himself edging closer to release as well, and when the boy came with a spasm, Antonio’s name a whisper on his lips, he swore he could see angel’s wings burst forth from the boy’s skin, shattering his shoulder blades with their force as they unfurled in front of him. Antonio doubled over, collapsing on top of the boy as he came, white-hot pleasure searing every inch of his skin.

Underneath Antonio, the boy groaned into the pillow, squirming uncomfortably with the weight on top of him, and Antonio rolled onto his back, allowing the boy to do the same. The minutes stretched silently between them as they lay panting, attempting to catch their breath in the aftermath of the sex.

When Antonio caught his breath and rolled back over to look at the boy, his own breathing nearly choked him as the air caught violently in his throat. Long, thin, finger-shaped bruises curled possessively around the boy’s slender hips and his torso was reddened with the marks of a dozen desperate kisses. There was a shallow imprint where Antonio’s teeth had latched onto his shoulder, and as the boy rolled onto his side with a quiet groan, Antonio could see his own cum dribbling down from between flushed thighs.

For several seconds, the boy just stared at him from beneath heavy, hooded eyelids, breathing softly in the silence that had descended over them. Everything about him, from his rosy cheeks to the way his legs shifted languidly against the sheets as he turned to sit up on the bed, was beautiful.

“Romano,” Antonio asked, still in a daze as he watched the boy dress, bending over to retrieve his pants from the floor where they had been thrown, “why are you doing this?” The boy turned around to look at him as he stepped into his shorts and tugged them over his knees.

“It’s not like I can walk out of here without clothes,” he answered with a scowl as he stalked toward the bed to grab his shirt, pulling it out from under Antonio with a forceful tug.

“No,” Antonio said, turning over onto his side, “why are you selling yourself?”

Whatever spell the post-sex silence cast over the room was instantly broken as the boy froze in the middle of putting on his shirt. For a moment, he stayed like that, staring at Antonio with hard, wary eyes. But only for a moment. He quickly turned his back on the bed, then, and slipped his thin shirt over his shoulders.

“Mio fratello,” he answered, voice thick with something Antonio couldn’t place, “is a fucking idiot who smiles at everything and still thinks that the world is a beautiful fucking place even though his only guardian is dead and doesn’t even have enough fucking money to live on the fucking streets.” The boy finished buttoning up his shirt and crossed the room toward Antonio. His cold eyes remained averted, though, as he swiped the thin vial of lube from the bedside table and tucked it into his shirt pocket.

“The stupid bastard has never worked a fucking day in his life, and now he thinks he’s in lo-,” a brief, harsh laugh interrupted him, “in love with some shitty, potato-eating bastard fresh out of the German military academy with enough time and money to travel to fucking Italy and waste every night getting hammered in a different fucking bar.” Finally, the boy turned his eyes on Antonio and they bore something fierce into his own.

“He can’t do this job. Someone has to.” The answer Antonio was given wasn’t exactly the one he wanted, nor was it anything like what he’d expected. Truthfully, he had no idea what, exactly, he was expecting, just that what the boy had said wasn’t it. Antonio looked up to find that the boy’s palm was outstretched, and he stared at it in confusion, eyes flicking back and forth between the hand and the eyes staring intensely through him.

“Pay me, dumbass.” Antonio flushed, stuttering apologies as he slid off the bed and scanned the floor for his pants, finding and grabbing them, only to fumble nervously with his wallet as the boy watched him, not amused.

“I…uh… How much do I pay you?” Antonio asked, embarrassed. “I…um… I’ve never b-bought a whore before…”

With a snarl, the boy grabbed Antonio’s wallet, opening it to inspect the contents. He carefully pulled out a few bills and then shoved the case back into Antonio’s hands, clutching the money tightly in one fist and turning toward the door. Antonio sat back down on the bed and watched the boy with a frown as he crossed the room and unlocked the door.

“Your real name,” Antonio asked, making the boy pause in the doorway. “Can you tell it to me?” The boy stared at him, surprised, and for the first time Antonio noticed just how exhausted he looked, how his shoulders slumped inward as he leaned against the doorframe between the door and the hallway and his eyes peered out jadedly from where they’d retreated deep into his sockets. Even across the room, one lone red mark stood out vibrantly against his pale neck, and Antonio fought the sudden urge to go over to him and run his fingers over it.

“Fuck off, bastard,” the boy answered with no venom left in his voice, shutting the door firmly behind him as he left.

Antonio stared at the door, trying to recall the way the boy looked at him then, with his tired eyes and his downturned mouth. All he could conjure up, though, was the image of him clutching his rosary to his chest as if it was something precious. That would be his first and last experience with a prostitute, Antonio decided, closing his eyes and falling back onto the bed. Never had he ever recalled feeling quite so alone.


End file.
